


Promotion

by Comicbooklovergreen



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Even if she doesn't want one, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, In which I steal from history, Therese Needs a Hug, based on a tumblr prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:42:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9702704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicbooklovergreen/pseuds/Comicbooklovergreen
Summary: "I won't let you be on your own. Not when you're like this."Therese has a bad day at work, Carol has to pick up the pieces.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of writing originally posted on my Tumblr. Anyone interested in specifics should look up the Newark Bay rail accident of 1958, or the 1958 Bayonne train bridge disaster.

“I won’t let you be on your own. Not when you’re like this.”

Therese sips her wine and smiles. It’s not the usual happy, relaxed expression she gets from drinking too much. “Like what? I’m celebrating. We’re celebrating.”

Carol sits next to her on the couch, gently takes the glass that’s been refilled too many times. “Is that what we’re doing?”

Therese laughs again. “Of course! I got promoted, didn’t I? Isn’t that what people do when they get promoted, times like this?”

“I’m not sure there are times like this, not really.”

“Thank God.”

“Therese…”

“Right place, right time, that’s what Jerry called it. Amazing luck. Amazingly good for me, amazingly bad for them, right?”

Carol sighs, tilts Therese’s chin up to look at her. “This isn’t your fault, you know. Being there, those people…being there doesn’t make it your fault.”

“No, not my fault,” Therese agrees. “I’m just the one profiting off their bodies. Promoted gets me a raise, did I tell you that?”

“You did. I wish you’d tell me other things.”

“Like what? Check the paper, tells everything there is.”

“I don’t think it does,” Carol says, stroking Therese’s cheek. “And I don’t think you’ve told me anything that matters.”

“Train crashed, people died, I was in the right place,” the last two words are dripping with something heavy and dark, “I did my job.”

Carol closes her eyes. “Crashed” actually means sped off a bridge into a bay in New Jersey. “People died” means almost fifty of them, from what Carol understands. Therese was in the “right place,” meaning far enough from danger (and thank God, Carol gets sick if she thinks about it too much), but close enough to get shot after shot of the carnage. And she’s been rewarded for it, after five years of hard work and frustration at _The Times_.

First she was locked in her darkroom developing the photos. Then she ran to the bathroom before Carol could do anything about it, and Carol listened to her retching.  She’ll be sick again if she keeps drinking. Probably sick again if she doesn’t.

“This isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have done anything.”

“I could’ve stopped. Tossed the film. I could’ve, my first thought could’ve been something other than…people were screaming and dying and, and all I did was shoot, keep shooting, reloading the goddamn film.”

Therese lashes out suddenly, clumsy but fast. The glass of red wine Carol took from her spills onto their antique coffee table, into the rug.

Carol catches Therese’s hand before she can slice it open, break the glass instead of just knocking it. Her fingers turn red and sticky as she pulls Therese against her chest, holds her tight enough that Therese squirms to get away.

“Let go, let me go!” Therese sobs, hands pushing and clawing at Carol’s blouse, creating more red.

“I can’t sweetheart, I can’t.” Carol rocks them in place, fights her own tears as Therese makes ugly, choking sounds into her shirt.

“Why?” It’s a half-yell, angry and broken.

“I left you once when I shouldn’t have, I can’t do that again. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, angel.”

Carol’s not sure what she’s apologizing for. There’s a long list of possibilities, only one or two of which directly involve her. Therese doesn’t ask, just slumps into her, goes limp and still at the same time she clutches Carol’s shirt tighter, continues to sob into her chest.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr. Hit me up with prompts, or just stop in to say hi.
> 
> http://cblgblog.tumblr.com/


End file.
